Same Song, Different Verse
by dancer4813
Summary: Clara isn't sure she knows who the Doctor is any more, but a phone call from a surprising friend assures her of her next course of action. "Well at least that hasn't changed" ... "And it never will." Set at the end of "Deep Breath", spoilers for Season 8, Episode 1.


_"I'm not sure I know who the Doctor is anymore."_

* * *

She can't stop looking at him – his face, his clothes, his movements – furtively searching for something, anything, that might reassure her of his identity. She hates herself for it, but the doubts surface again and again, and every time she thinks she catches on to one of his tropes it disappears and she's left feeling like she's lost her best friend all over.

Again.

Clara's mind conjures up images of herself with every one of the Doctor's incarnations. She's done this before, more-or-less. It's not like she didn't know he could regenerate, because she did know. But seeing those big sad eyes suddenly appear on a different face in a different color with a very different chin and eyebrows… She finds herself replaying the moment of the transformation on a loop inside her head and can hardly bear to think about it.

_It's not like before,_ she tells herself, trying to come up with a valid excuse for her worries. _This is different_. And it is different, but she's arguing with herself, and no matter how hard she tries to deny it she really is "bubbly-personality-masking-bossy-control-freak" because she wants to be able to hold onto _some_ part of her life, even if it's trying to find someone she knows in what feels like a stranger.

His big sad eyes plead and her own fill with tears for what must be the hundredth time in the last two days. She has tried so hard to stay strong for him as he changed, but following him through it is so much different than popping in and out of his life like the occasional robin.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry."

She hears the words come out of her mouth before she can try to draw them back in again, and hears an echo of his tenth self saying the same phrase, wincing internally as his shoulders droop by little more than a fraction before he hikes them back up again, his face hard and resigned, though his eyes still plead for her understanding.

She just doesn't know him anymore – not like she used to. She tells him so, hating herself for it. How can she stay with him when he leaves her to fend for herself instead of remaining close to her side, ready to protect her at the first sign of trouble? How can she continue on their travels when she doesn't feel she can be sure he's coming back – if he really wants her there or not. How can she be his impossible girl when she doesn't know how to be there for _him_?

It feels like time is moving too fast, too fast for her to comprehend what's really happening around her until her phone rings and he says "You'd better get that. It might be your boyfriend."

She denies it quickly, taking her mobile out of her pocket and exiting the TARDIS and answering it, resigning herself quickly to her surroundings which are _certainly_ not her apartment or the Maitlands' house.

_Some things never change._

"Hello?" she says, not having recognized the number right off the bat. "Hello?"

"It's me."

"Yes, it's you. Who's this?"

"It's _me_, Clara. The Doctor."

The way he says her name, not harsh or snapping or with a Scottish brogue, but soft and familiar, like the hundreds of times she has heard it before…

It leaves her speechless. And confused.

"What do you mean, the Doctor?"

Because as much as she doesn't want to admit it to herself, she really does know that the old man in the blue box is the Time Lord he claims to be. So remains the question: Who is her mystery caller?

"I'm phoning you from Trenzalore," he says, as if he's surprised she hasn't figured it out yet, and she can picture him rolling his eyes with a half-amused smile on his face.

"I don't-"

"…from before I changed."

She thinks of the phone that hung from the TARDIS at Trenzalore, of setting it back on its hook, in its place.

"I mean, it's all still to happen for me, it's coming. Oh, it's a-coming. It's not long now. And I can… feel it."

Hearing his voice sound so weak, so croaky, remembering his smile and his words before he- _changed…_ Clara's heart aches and she pulls the phone to her chest, both wishing to give him a hug and wondering what to do. She doesn't want to hear his voice so in pain, so… so…

But he stays silent and she can't take it anymore. She has to know why he would call ahead, what he could hope to achieve by phoning the future from her past.

So she asks him.

"Because I think it's gonna be a whopper," he says, with just a hint of his grin and humor slipping into the words. "And I think you might be scared."

He hits the nail on the head so effectively, she has to lean against the wall next to her, feeling tears come to her eyes, a sob rising up like bile in her throat, choking her.

"And however scared you are, Clara," he continues, "the man you are with right now, the man I hope you are with… believe me, he is more scared than anything you can imagine right now. And he, he _needs_ you."

_I need you_, went the unspoken phrase.

Then he is silent and though she knows he's still there, she feels more alone than ever because, suddenly, the choice in on her. She had chosen to leave already, had walked out the doors of the blue box, had, for all intents and purposes, said goodbye. And she's being asked to change her answer in the most integral way possible.

"So who is it?" comes the voice of a gruff Scot from the door of the TARDIS, the silver-haired head peeking out, the rest of his body following.

"Is that the Doctor?"

"Is that the Doctor?"

They echo each other, and Clara feels like she's been caught in the act of a crime, as if the phone call is a betrayal, though she's not sure whom toward.

"Yes," she says, just loud enough for both of them to hear, acutely aware of her breath speeding up slightly after the mishap with the clockwork droids.

"He sounds old," says the Doctor in her ear, "Please tell me I didn't get old. Anything but old!" And she can't help a laugh escaping, because the comment is just so _him._

"I was young," he continues to lament, making Clara's smile widen just a bit more. "Oh. Is he grey?" he asks, and she can imagine his eyes widening, though her smile slides off at his comment.

"Yes," she affirms after sending a glance to the older man who is looking deep into the blue paint of the TARDIS walls as if hoping to glean some meaning or hope from the color.

"Clara, please, eh, for me, _help him_," he says, and suddenly the fear is back, as is her uncertainty. "Go on," he says, "and don't be afraid."

She looks over at the TARDIS, only to see the man close the TARDIS doors fully, eyebrows furrowed in a way that suits him, as intimidating as it is, his mouth parted as if to ask a question, his eyes round and sad beneath the shadow of his brow. He steps forward hesitantly, as if not wanting to get too close or interrupt a private moment.

"Goodbye Clara," her Doctor says, every syllable filled with his smile, his hugs, his laughter, and his face. "Miss you."

She is the one to hang up, as much as she doesn't want to press that particular button, as much as she wants to cling to him forever and ever.

Clara can't quite stifle a sob, and sniffs a bit, the mobile clenched tightly in her hand.

"Well?" he asks, still a good six feet away, still lurking in the safe presence of his TARDIS, his home.

"Well what?" she asks after a moment to settle her heart all over again and breathe deeply, sniffing away the last of her tears.

"He asked you a question."

_I asked you a question_.

"Will you help me?" he continues, and she can't help the reprimand she's given Artie and Angie so many times from coming out of her mouth.

"You shouldn't have been listening."

"I wasn't, I didn't need to. That was _me_ talking," he says, trying to defend himself (to her great amusement).

And, in small waves, the truth and realization begins to wash over her. He wasn't just saying goodbye to her, but goodbye to himself. The fear he was talking about – it is real and present, and she can see it, hidden, under the veil of himself. The man in front of her…

He scoffs and turns his head to the side, a wry smile playing on his lips as if he knew the punch line to a joke she didn't. After walking a few steps away he turns to her again.

"You don't see me, do you?" he asks, an air of resignation about him as he shakes his head. "You-you look and me and you-you can't see me. Do you have any idea what that's like?"

But she does – she knows exactly how he feels. She remembers him confronting her about how she kept popping up for him – the Dalek Asylum and Victorian London, and then again. She remembers him wanting to know a secret she didn't know herself, a secret she wasn't even aware existed. She remembers all those glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking – _the only mystery worth solving_ – he had said, talking about humans in general, but really (more specifically) her and her story. Clara remembers his explosion on the edge of the imaginary cliff in the deep depths of an exploding TARDIS, in an alternate timeline, when he reacted to her with anger, fear, and distrust.

She remembers how she felt.

_He is more scared than anything you can imagine…_

"I'm not on the phone. I'm right here," the Doctor in front of her says, "standing in front of you. Please just-"

He pauses for a moment, ready to throw on a façade and fly away in his box, readying himself for defeat, for retreat.

"…Just see me," he finishes quickly, as if wanting her judgment to fall in the same way.

She walks toward the Doctor, doing as he asked, taking the time to examine his face, the wrinkles and the hair and the ears – just a bit less like the rocket fins of his last regeneration, and she smiles.

"Thank you."

"For what?" he asks, genuinely confused.

"Phoning," she answers, nodding her head before sweeping him into a hug that is different, but at the core so _similar_, she can't help but shed a few tears of some unknowably complicated emotion. She doesn't care that the Doctor's arms don't hug her close as they used to, or even wrap around her shoulders, or that he's a bit taller than before. All that matters is that she finally understands the man in front of her, and has made her choice – she won't leave him, she never could. She knows that now.

"I-I-I don't think that I'm a hugging person now."

"I'm not sure you get a vote," she says, patting his back, as she resists the urge to laugh.

"Whatever you say."

…

…

"This isn't my home by the way."

* * *

"_Well, at least that hasn't changed._

_ And I don't suppose it ever will."_

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a review saying what you liked or didn't like. **

**Until next time,**

**Megan**


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